


Catalyst

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And a really angsty ending, Kissing, kidnap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a picture I saw on instagram and was asked to write a thing for it. So I did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

> Jim Moriarty is a very fun character to write :)

Darkness so complete it was almost solid. That was the only thing John was aware of. They- whoever "they" were- had grabbed him, and a bag had been pulled over his head so quickly that he hadn't even had time to cry out. He could hear, though. It sounded like Sherlock had put up quite a fight, but after a minute John had felt his friend land beside him in the back of the van.  
"Who is it? Where are they taking us?" asked John in an urgent whisper. Sherlock started to reply but was cut off by a yell from one of their captors.  
"Hey! No talking!"  
"Sherlo-" began John, but he stopped abruptly as a boot connected with his stomach and knocked all the air from him. Gasping in pain and eyes watering, John could feel hot breath against his cheek as one of the men growled a threat into his ear.  
"I said, no talking. So shut it."  
John closed his eyes and swallowed deeply, fighting back a wave of panic. He concentrated on Sherlock's back pressed into his side. He was still breathing, and John focused on that. Maybe they'd be okay.  
Time passed. John couldn't be sure how long they spent in that van- it could have been anything from fifteen minutes to an hour. When the van finally stopped John felt himself get bundled out and he stumbled a few steps before he was pushed roughly over, landing on a hard, cold floor. He sat there breathing heavily until he heard the van drive away, then reached up a tentative hand to pull the hood off. He was expecting at any moment to hear a shout, a gunshot, feel the pain of a foot slamming into his chest, but there was nothing. They were alone.  
John tore away the material covering his face and looked around for Sherlock. The room was huge and dimly lit, but thanks to the darkness of the bag his eyes adjusted quickly to see a dark shape lying on the floor a few metres away.  
"Sherlock!" he called, a dark stab of panic piercing his chest. To his relief, the shape moved.  
"John? Are you hurt?"  
"Bruised. You?"  
As Sherlock came forward into the light John could see that he'd taken quite a beating in the earlier fight. Blood trickled from his nose and from a cut at his hairline, and there were some pretty spectacular bruises already beginning to form. John winced in sympathy as he watched his friend drag a hand labouriously across his face in a bid to remove the blood.  
"Where are we?" asked John after a while, looking around.  
"West end, at a guess. Got a bit disoriented. However, I don't think we're going to be alone for much longer."  
John's mouth opened to ask what he meant, but then another light flickered on and a figure appeared at the far end of the warehouse.  
"Evening, boys."  
The voice was soft and lilting, and it made John's skin crawl. He knew that voice all too well- the owner had tried to kill him, after all. He wasn't going to forget that in a hurry.  
Jim Moriarty walked towards them both, a soft smile on his face.  
John wished for his gun, for anything he could use as a weapon, but the kidnappers had taken everything from his pockets. He swore under his breath. Moriarty heard.  
"Temper, temper, Johnny boy! You might want to watch your tongue or Daddy will be very..." Without warning, Moriarty lashed out with one of his leather-shoed feet and kicked John behind the legs, sending him to his knees.  
"...disappointed," he finished quietly.  
"What do you want?" said Sherlock angrily.  
"Well for a start, I want you on your knees too."  
"I'm not going to kneel for you-!"  
Faster than John thought possible, Jim grabbed Sherlock by the hair and hit him hard in the stomach, forcing him down.  
"I. Said. Kneel!" he spat. Sherlock collapsed down next to John.  
"What do you want, Jim?" asked Sherlock.  
"Oh, today it's more a case of what you want. You see, I've been keeping tabs on you and it seems you two need a little...encouragement."  
"Encouragement?"  
"Yes. Now kiss."  
John's heart froze. This was a trap. It was. It had to be. Sherlock seemed to be thinking along much the same lines.  
"What possible motive could you have in forcing us to kiss? Neither of us are interested in a relationship and I cannot see how it would benefit you!"  
"Guess I'm just an old romantic, Sherly," he teased. "Now just kiss your pretty little boyfriend and I'll let you go."  
There was a long pause, then Sherlock's eyes flickered up to meet John's.  
"John?"  
"Just...Just do it. He'll let us go."  
Sherlock nodded, leaning in and lightly pressing his mouth to John's. He pulled back almost immediately, glaring at his nemesis.  
"Can we leave?"  
"Oh, Sherlock, that wasn't a kiss! Try again."  
Moriarty threaded his fingers into John's hair, grabbed Sherlock's head roughly and forced them towards each other. John looked desperately at his friend, who just nodded desperately. John closed his eyes and felt Sherlock's mouth being crushed against his. At first it was painful, but the detective quickly adjusted the angle of his mouth to make the contact more comfortable. John's hand reached out automatically and curled in Sherlock's scarf, a sob escaping him. Sherlock's lips became gentler and more tender, almost comforting. His hand rested lightly on John's shoulder. After several long seconds the pressure was removed from their heads and they broke apart. Sherlock stood up instantly to threaten Moriarty, but the psychopath in Westwood was already walking away.  
"Thank you, Sherlock," he called back. "You gave me everything I needed."  
The door closed behind him with a thud that seemed deafening in the silent room.  
John remained on the floor, tears on his cheeks. He couldn't meet Sherlock's eyes, and the detective sat down opposite him.  
"John? We can go now."  
John could hear a faint tremor in his friend's voice, but he stayed staring at his knees until he felt cool fingers against his cheek. Sherlock's hand brushed lightly against his friend's face, then he let out a sound that was midway between a yell and a sigh.  
"Oh for God's sake, I'm so sorry," he said in a rush, grabbing John and hugging him close. The smaller man didn't even have the heart to question the unexpected contact- the tears on his face obscured everything.  
"I thought we were going to die," he breathed. "Again," he added as an afterthought, huffing out a shaky laugh. "What did he mean about having everything he needs?"  
"I don't know," mumbled Sherlock. "We'll have to find out."

Of course, they did find out eventually. Months later, standing on the roof of St Bartholomew's Hospital, Sherlock finally worked it out. Moriarty just wanted to know how much he loved John. How much he would sacrifice.  
As it turned out, quite a lot.


End file.
